


✣ 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔸𝕊𝕊𝔸𝕊𝕊𝕀ℕ'𝕊 𝔹𝕃𝔸𝔻𝔼 ✣

by welcometochavtown



Series: Throne Of Glass Rewrite [1]
Category: Bring Me The Horizon, Palaye Royale (Band), Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens, You Me At Six
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Courtesans, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, More Relationships/Characters/Tags To Be Added, Multi, Murder, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29608050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometochavtown/pseuds/welcometochavtown
Summary: THE TWIST OF A KNIFE. THE BIRTH OF A LEGEND...Daniel Flint owes his reputation to Victor Fuentes. He gave him a home at the Assassins' Guild, and taught him the skills he needed to survive.Victor's enemies stretch far and wide — from Adarlan's rooftops and its filthy dens, to remote islands and hostile deserts. Dan is duty-bound to hunt them down. But, behind his assignments lies a dark truth that will seal his fate — and cut his heart in two, forever...
Relationships: Dan Flint/Oliver Sykes, Vic Fuentes/Danielle Victoria
Series: Throne Of Glass Rewrite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175291





	1. 𝔻𝕀𝕊ℂ𝕃𝔸𝕀𝕄𝔼ℝ

**Author's Note:**

> [TRIGGER WARNING: MURDER, SLAVERY, SEX, VIOLENCE, WEAPONS]

This whole story is based off the prequel ('The Assassin's Blade') to a book series, known as 'Throne Of Glass'.

The series is written by author Sarah J. Maas. All rights go to her. Also, I've met her personally —she's lovely — and she's really talented. She signed my book for me :)

Mature themes, such as murder, will be uncensored in the whole of this story. It is a story of assassins, after all. If such content is potentially triggering, I advise that you do not read.

I do not take any credit towards her work, and do not intend to profit from this. It's just a re-write, for entertainment.


	2. ℙ𝔸ℝ𝕋 𝗜

𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔸𝕊𝕊𝔸𝕊𝕊𝕀ℕ 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕋ℍ𝔼 ℙ𝕀ℝ𝔸𝕋𝔼 𝕃𝕆ℝ𝔻


	3. ꧁ 𝟙 ꧂

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TRIGGER WARNING: DEATH]

Daniel Flint was sat in the council room of the Assassin' Keep. He leaned back in his uncomfortable, wooden chair, not even wincing as it groaned at the movement.

"Its past four, in the morning," he informed them - though, they already knew - and adjusted the end of his silk night-shirt, to cover how his underwear had ridden up with crossing his legs. "This had better be important."

"Perhaps, if you weren't playing that stupid instrument all night, you wouldn't be so exhausted," the youngest of the older men snapped, from where he was sat, across the round table.

He ignored the response. Instead, he chose to study the other three people that accompanied them in the council room. It was a rather-small room that sat deep beneath the heart of the Keep. A room only few other than a small handful of men had seen.

All of them were men, and all older than he. All refusing his heated stare...

At the chill sliding down the bones of his spine, he shuddered; it didn't have anything to do with the draft curling under the doors, and around their feet.

Picking at the cuticles of his fingers, he schooled his features, to appear neutral. Unbothered. He dropped the narrowed eyes - the lips turned up into a scowl. Blank. 

The five companions gathered at the circular table were five-sevenths of Victor Fuentes' most trusted assassins. Victor Fuentes, notoriously-dangerous assassin; cold, and untrustworthy. 

Undeniably, it was an important meeting. They always were. He knew that. Not like the red-headed servant girl pounding on his door hadn't shown that enough, anyway. If that didn't, her informing Daniel that his presence were required in the council room, - and to not bother dressing - certainly did.

When a man, such as Victor, summoned you, you were not to keep him waiting. Unless, of course, you had a serious wish for punishment (and, not an enjoyable one, at that - you kinky motherfuckers.)

Thankfully, it was one of those days far too cold to sleep in your undergarments, so his shirt hadn't needed to be wrestled with as he rushed after the servant. Danielle, if he remembered correctly. Rather lovely. He almost felt bad for her. But, she certainly had a lot of fun, when Victor decided she was the next slave he was going to use, for a while.

However, he was only sixteen, and his young age was a weapon. One that could also be used as a vulnerability against himself. 

Fuentes, King of the Assassins residing in the Keep, was sat to attention diagonal to him. In the dim light, his brunette hair glimmered, possessing a quality not unlike that of the crystals drooping in chains from the chandelier.

His mocha eyes met Dan's aquamarine ones, causing the King of Assassins to frown. Dan could've sworn the frown brought out an unusual paleness in the smooth skin of his mentor's face, but he put it down to poor lighting. It still made his insides turn.

"Jack's been caught," Vic finally admitted, answering Dan's unasked question about the whereabouts of one of the missing two. "Mission was a trap. Royal guards threw him in the dungeons."

Dan sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. _This stupid prick_ was the reason he was awoken, after only an hour of rest?

"Kill him then," he suggested, not joking.

He'd never liked Jack, anyway. When he was ten, he tried grooming Jack's mare, Ruby. He'd immediately assumed Dan was trying to harm the beloved animal, and launched a dagger at his head for it. Not only that, he was always flirting with anyone, and everyone. 

Dan had caught the dagger, of course, ever quick in his reflexes. Jack's shoulder bared the scar of his return throw. 

" _Kill_ Jack?" asked Oliver, the second youngest of them, incredulously.

It was like he'd suggested to kill Vic. As if...

Oliver was sat to the left of Vic, across from Dan, in the place usually reserved by Kellin Bostwick. Kellin was Vic's second-in-command, and had been a big part of Daniel's upbringing.

Oliver Sykes. He was a year older than Dan, with very _strong_ opinions towards the youngest at the Keep. Dan had known his unwanted opinions since childhood, when Vic had arrived with a new child. Youngest child they'd seen at the Keep, Kellin had told him. 

See, Vic claimed Dan had a hidden potential, immediately declaring the small boy as his heir, and protégé. That hadn't stopped Oli from _trying_ (failing) to prove he was above Dan. Though, he never forgot his place; never went _too_ far. Too.

Dan made a move to kick the older boy in the shin, as a scolding for sitting in Kellin's place, stopping when his mentor shot him a warning glance. 

Not that Kellin wouldn't throttle the annoyingly-handsome teenager across from Dan for it, when the lazy bastard finally showed up. But.

Daniel looked at Vic, aquamarine eyes blinking at him. Almost in disbelief. Not like the blonde would admit that. But.

Why hadn't Vic instructed Oliver to move? Why was he not reprimanding the stupid brunette for disrespecting the second-in-command like that? 

Vic's face remained impassive, not even a slight twinge of interest towards the rebellious act of Oli. It was a look Dan despised - or, was jealous of. He hated that others around him could mask their own emotions, when he struggled with it.

"If Barakat's been caught," Dan started, running a hand through his hair, which was curled at the ends, due to not being styled yet. "Then, we follow the rules. Send some apprentice in to slip something in his food. Nothing painful. Just stops the idiot from blabbing."

The men around him tensed at the idea of losing such an important part of the main seven, causing him to roll his eyes. Sure, he did some decent work. But, the royal dungeons had a reputation. No one came out of that place alive; they certainly did not come out recognisable. Jack was likely to tell them the Guild's location, in hope of keeping his life. Idiot.

The Assassin's Keep was a secret guarded well by its inhabitants. One they'd all been trained to keep, even after their last breath. Well, even if someone _were_ to betray the oath, Dan doubted that anyone would believe such a hideout would be an elegant manor, located on a respectably-rich street in Rifthold. Hide in plain sight, they always said. What better place to hide than the capital city?

"What if he's already talked?" Oliver challenged.

Even through his thick curls, Dan could see that the heavily tattooed boy had his eyebrow raised.

"If Barakat's already blabbed, we kill everyone who's heard. It's simple protocol, Sykes."

Dan flashed a toothy grin towards Oliver, showing off his perfectly-white teeth. One at the front was slightly bigger than the rest, but it hadn't bothered him. He'd actually been called cute for it before. 

Oliver rolled his hazel eyes. He scowled at the blonde heir, who turned towards their suspiciously-silent mentor.

"But, we aren't here to decide that. Surely, you've given the order?"

Vic grimly nodded, lips pressed in a tight, thin line. Oli bit back any remark, not daring to argue with the King of Assassins. He turned his melancholy gaze to the blazing hearth beside them, the crackling flames peeling away the bark of his hazel eyes to reveal the luscious-green grass beneath. 

Those eyes, along with his handsome features, could've earned him a fortune, if his mother had have left him with the courtesans, not assassins. Or, so Daniel had been told, by Kellin.

The silence that followed was loud enough to overwhelm the young assassin. They sat on the edge of the seats, muscles tensed. Vic inhaled sharply, though his eyes were narrowed in neutrality. 

"So, why are we here, then?" Dan huffed, irritated by the quiet.

The other's turned their eyes down at the splintering wood, finding it much more fun to focus on the table than Dan's clearly-confused face.

They knew. They all knew. Whatever it was that the meeting was about, they knew. Vic had told them, or someone had. Why hadn't he been informed first?

Vic's jaw tightened, and he let his protégé look him in the eye.

"Kellin was killed."

Dan paled - and, it wasn't down to the lighting. His fingers gripped at his shirt. 

"Excuse me?"

_Kellin_ \- Kellin, the ever-playful second-in-command; Kellin, who'd took to training Dan more than Vic himself had; Kellin, who'd became like a parent to Dan, and often found himself taking care of the little troublemaker's injuries; Kellin, who was the final missing member of the Secret Seven, of Vic's most trusted inner circle; Kellin, who was turning thirty tomorrow. 

"What do you mean, 'killed'?" Dan questioned through gritted teeth. 

He couldn't tell if he were more mad, or devastated by the death of the one who'd been there since the start.

Victor eyed him, grief evident on his face . He'd grown up with the deceased man, who helped him become King of Assassins - trained with him. Grown with him. Grieved with him. Fought with him.

"It was supposed to be Jack's mission," Vic told him quietly, knowing the young boy would blow up at the revelation. "I'm not aware of how Kellin got involved with it. I don't know who betrayed them. All I know, is that his body was found by the gates of the castle."

"Do you have his body?" Dan asked, voice dangerously quiet.

He had to see it. The damage. How much effort was put into ending his life. He had to know how he was to be avenged. He had to say goodbye.

"No. Of course, not."

Dan snarled, "Why the fuck not?"

"Because there were guards everywhere, you inconsiderate bitch! How the fuck do you think we learnt about him being on the mission, in the first place? If we'd've taken the body, we'd've been followed!" Oliver burst out, covering his mouth as Vic glared at him.

The blonde looked at Oli with a blank expression. Vic had sent _him_ out to see why two of the Secret Seven were missing? If he'd sent Dan out, Kellin would probably be still alive, and Barakat back home, being punished for his incapability to complete what was likely a simple mission.

"You're assassins," he growled, "You've been trained to be able to recover bodies, without being fucking seen!"

"Don't be so stuck up, Flint. If you were there, you would've done the same thing," Oliver scoffed.

Dan stood up so fast, that his chair was turned over with the movement. 

"If I were there, I would've probably gotten there in time to save him. Or, I would've killed them _all_ , to retrieve his body. He deserves better!"

He slammed his fists down on the table. The glasses of wine clinked together, or rattled in their places, at the disturbance.

Oli shot to his feet, sword out in an instant. The tip of the steel was pointed at the younger's neck.

"Oh, listen to me! I'm Dan Flint! I think I'm better than all of the other assassins! I'm the heir to the Guild!" he mocked, putting on a different accent - Dan's Terrasen accent.

"Enough," Vic warned.

No one moved, other than two other members gripped their chosen weapon. It was for their protection really, more so than to prevent he and Oli from damaging each other. Fights with assassins were not fun.

" _Enough!_ "

Dan patted at his own thigh, feeling for that dagger hidden in the sheath concealed at his side. One wrong move from Oliver, and that dagger was going to find itself sticking out of the curly-haired boy's neck.

Vic sighed, moving first. He grabbed Oliver's chin in one hand, forcing the brunette to look at him. 

"Check your actions, Boy, before I do it for you." He lowered his voice. "You're a fool for picking a fight with him tonight. Leave him alone."

Oliver sheathed his sword with a scared nod, looking up for approval. Victor released his grip, but remained close. It was to stop Dan from sending the dagger towards him, with one flick of his wrist. They all knew that. 

"Daniel." 

Dan let his hand drop away from the dagger. Enough blood had been spilled. One more death in the Secret Seven - five now, Dan mused - would be critical.

Kellin... Kellin was gone. He was never coming back. He'd never be able to heal Dan's latest punishment, or tell him lewd jokes to try distract him as they sparred, or purposely bump into him to annoy him.

"Daniel," Vic murmured again.

"I'm done here," Dan interrupted, stalking to the doorway moodily. "Just so you know, I'm going to retrieve his body. Don't expect me to honour your lives the same way, when your time comes."

No one stopped him from leaving; no one stopped him, twenty minutes later, when he strode out the manor gates.


	4. ꧁ 𝟚 ꧂

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF SLAVERY]

Two months, three days, seven hours, and one... Two... Three seconds later, a peculiarly-shaped clock chimed midday, from where it were mounted on the wall.

Captain Emerson Kropp, Lord of the Pirates, was running late. Well, so were Daniel and Oliver, but, at least, they had their excuses. They were already three hours behind their overflowing schedule, and Kropp was still to show up. It would be different, if they weren't meeting in _his_ office...

It wasn't Dan's fault they were tardy (like Oli had tried to say). It wasn't like it was _his_ fault there was no wind to help the sailboat, and it certainly wasn't his fault that the sailors were acting like spooked horses, when trying to sail into the archipelago known as 'The Dead Islands'. 

Dan was sure that, if he were to have taken a riding crop and have brought it down upon their flanks, the sailors would've whinnied like skittish thoroughbreds on a racetrack. 

At the thought of how much gold Vic would've had to bribe these useless sailors, he grimaced. To be fair, the heart of the pirate territory was not known to be inviting. But, being on an island, Skull's Bay left them with no other mode of transport. 

Maybe, he should've just gotten Oliver to row them there. Would've been cheaper, easier, and more amusing. Though, it would be near impossible, for a single man to row such a distance without rest, unfortunately.

Dan adjusted the bow that tied together the front of his onyx cloak, tucking his shirt into his skin-tight trousers. His hands reached up to fiddle with the ebony mask concealing the upper part of his face. He rather liked his mask, with its raspberry lace-swirls, despite how suffocating it could feel sometimes: it bought out the blue-green of his irises - something he were often complimented on.

Oliver wasn't wearing a mask, but he did have his hood thrown over his messy curls. His identity hadn't needed as much protection as Dan's did. The younger was far too much of a secret; far too wanted, by far too many people, to be seen. As much as Oli hated him, he favoured his own life, so he opted for keeping the blonde out of trouble. A death by the King of Assassins - for getting his best assassin murdered, or caught - was not the way he wanted to die.

Dan huffed impatiently, standing up from the stool he'd been slumped on for the past twenty-so minutes and pushing off his hood. He couldn't believe Kropp was keeping them waiting. Even though Oliver was a well-composed assassin, the blonde could feel his agitation radiating off his seemingly-stoic being.

Kropp knew exactly why two of Victor's most trusted assassin's were meeting with him. Yet, he still kept them waiting.

Five of Vic's assassins had been found - murdered by the hands of pirates. Vic had sent his best assassin (and, someone he knew would keep him in line) to inflict retribution. To avenge the lives of the fallen - and, preferably, gain a couple-dozen sacks of gold. Under the excuse that their deaths would dent the Keep's savings, of course. At least, that's what Vic had told him a week ago.

"From now on, every minute longer we wait is equal to an extra ten gold pieces, added onto his debt," Dan chimed, poking a pigeon-feather quill.

Oli rolled his eyes at him, crossing his arms.

"You can't do that. Vic's letter states it all. Breaking the official seal will show we've tampered with it. Plus, you seem to forget you don't run the Keep yet, Flint. Not yet. _Not yet._ "

His words fell on ignorant ears, and Dan carried on poking at things with his gloved fingers.

"Daniel, stop that."

The blonde picked up a glass sphere, twirling it in his fingers absentmindedly. He winced, almost dropping the object: the flesh of the curly-haired boy's knuckles was flush against the back of his neck.

"I told you to stop."

Neither of them had been pleased, when Vic announced Oli was to accompany the heir on this mission. Their mentor claimed it to be precaution, in case someone were to attack. The Keep couldn't afford another death within the inner circle.

It was still tense - tenser than usual - between the remaining five members of Vic's inner circle. Since Dan had retrieved the body, only two months had passed. A month, and three weeks, since Kellin's funeral. Expectedly, Dan made a passive-aggressive speech.

The younger didn't believe his mentor's claim, however. Oli's only purpose on that mission was that of a watchdog; to make sure that Dan was kept in line. Couldn't have his lack of care towards human life costing them more conflict between pirates and assassins.

It was an honour, really, to meet the Pirate Lord of all of Erilea. Dan wasn't going to fuck up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

Though, the ramshackle island had disappointed him, if he were honest. He'd secretly been expecting some sort of ancient castle, surrounded by stone buildings. Nope. 

Doors so low even he - at his short height of five-feet-six - had to hunch over to fit through them. The buildings were rotting wood, cramped to the point that he was sweating underneath his concealing clothes. He was always cold.

Heads turned, at the two outsiders daring to invade the pirate territories. At the sight of Dan's form - just a whisper of mystery, hidden behind the ebony of his clothes - they quickly adverted their curious gazes elsewhere. The power of intimidation never did much harm. Much.

"Do I look like I give a fuck?"

Dan shrugged the hand off his collar, and shuffled through the mess of objects strewn out across the desk, gagging as he picked up a vibrantly-pink bra. 

Sending a hateful glare towards the younger, Oli snatched the undergarment from him, curly hair bouncing like an excited puppy with the movement. 

"He could walk through that door any second!" he hissed, voice low.

"Shush, you," the blonde dismissed, pocketing a crystal-encrusted ring before his _watchdog_ could turn his attention to it.

Oli sighed, shuffling in his seat to look out for any signs of the door opening. His shift of focus gave Dan the chance to flop down in the plush armchair perched behind the desk. He propped his boot-covered feet on top of a haphazardly-piled stack of papers.

"Daniel."

Dan ignored the assassin, retrieving a lilac piece of paper from amongst the chaos. It smelt strongly of some fancy perfume - one he remembered one of the courtesans wearing.

"Damn it, Daniel! You're gonna get us killed!"

"You, before me, sweetheart," Dan reminded, unfolding the paper and skimming over the cursive writing.

Another reason Oliver was to accompany him, actually. The heavily-protective clothes were to hide Dan's identity; they were a precaution made necessary. Oliver was here to make sure Dan's secret identity wasn't compromised. All of Vic's assassins were under a sworn oath of secrecy about him, and sealed with a threat of torture so prolonged that slowly bleeding to death would be more enjoyable.

All that Erilea knew about Daniel Flint, - Adarlan's Assassin, as he'd been more frequently known as - was that he was as uncatchable as smoke to the human hand. He wanted to keep it like that. 

There was a thrill in being able to chat so freely to Rifthold's nobilities, without being thrown into the dungeons; of knowing that the fear fed by Adarlan's citizens was of a sixteen-year-old boy, who was still to have his first kiss - who still had a bit of baby-chub around his body.

"Sit back down here," Oliver ordered, making to grab at the other's wrist.

The guards that greeted their arrival had taken their weapons, to reduce the threat of harm to their Lord. They could have those weapons: Dan would do just as good a job with his bare hands, than he would with his usual twin daggers.

Dan laughed sarcastically, throwing his hood back over his messy locks.

"Oh sure, let's sit on more shitty wood, after a week at sea! Why would I ever think this comfy armchair is better than that splintered stool?"

The older assassin pinched the bridge of his nose, agitated by the antics of that stupid blonde. He let out a warning growl.

"Nice to see you've made yourself comfy," Kropp commented.

The slam of the door made the assassins flinch in shock. It was a risky move, considering he knew exactly _who_ was sat in his usual seat.

The brunette froze, glaring at his fellow assassin - who, amused by Oliver's poorly-hidden fear, was scanning the Pirate Lord with his aquamarine eyes.

Emerson certainly wasn't what Dan expected. He'd conjured up the image of a scruffy, unclean, stout man in his late fifties. This man... This man was... Dare he say... Attractive, and rather young. 

Messy curls, greasy - but, that was kind of attractive; slim figure; eyes outlined with dark makeup, a permanent smirk; crimson-and-liquorice-stripped trousers, held up by suspenders that sat over his cream button-up; hat set atop his head.

Oli arose from his stool, bowing. 

"Oliver Sykes," he told him, offering an introductory hand.

Kropp accepted, slender fingers clasping against Oliver's broad, inked hand. Their greeting ended, and the pirate turned towards Dan.

"I suppose you're not going to introduce yourself. Then again, you don't exactly need one. Do you, Daniel Flint?"

Dan shrugged with one shoulder, smirking lazily. 

"I suppose you're correct, Kropp."

Emerson chuckled, grinning at the young assassin. The sheath buckled to his hip was empty, indicating a lack of weapons. Another risky move, but wise. They could've used his weapons against him, and would've, if given the opportunity.

"I don't know what you northerners do, but, down here, we like to know who we're doing deals with," Kropp told them, unscrewing the lid of his flask, and drinking down whatever alcohol stained the interior. 

Probably brandy, or whisky, Dan decided. He raised an eyebrow, causing his mask to follow the movement.

"As you so kindly pointed out, Captain, I do not need an introduction. You know me. If you mean that you wanna see my beautiful face, very few men get that privilege, darling."

Kropp looked at him blankly, unamused with his remarks.

"Out of my chair."

Oliver tensed, at the sharpness in his voice, but Dan just clicked his tongue.

"You need to organise this shit-tip," he advised, nodding his head at the jumbled heap of useless artefacts.

Kropp groaned, grabbing for his shoulder. Dan was on his feet in an instant, looking back at the Pirate Lord. His eyes were wide - all aquamarine and innocent - thick lashes batting at him through the eye-holes of his mask.

"I wouldn't do that, Captain, if I were you," he crooned, the sing-song tone adding a playfulness to his threat.

"You're in pirate territory, darling. You're in no position to act like you're the boss."

Emerson's eyes glowed, almost like he were challenging Dan to make a with remark.

"Daniel," Oliver mumbled.

Dan sighed, pouting moodily, and stepped away from the Pirate Lord. Oliver yanked him down onto the unoccupied stool, glaring at him with anger so white-hot that the Frozen Wastes could've melted.

Kropp sank into his armchair, watching the pair's interaction - an eagle ready to strike. None of them spoke, but the mew of gulls (and, yells of pirates greeting old mates in the rundown streets below) filled in the uncomfortable silence.

The captain frowned, lacing his fingers together.

"Well? Are you going to say anything?"

"You know why we're here, Kropp," Dan pointed out, blinking. "Perhaps, I need to remind you? All that salt-water gone to your brain?"

Kropp raised a brow expectantly, waving a hand towards him. Like he was a king, listening to two prisoners plead for mercy before him. What a nob.

"Five of our assassins were murdered, by pirates - your pirates. Found in Bellhaven."

"How do you know they were my pirates?"

"Your men have a particular way of killing people, Captain. That weird, swirly symbol-shit you brand behind the ear," Oli explained, watching his partner from the corner of his vision.

"Hm, I see. So, what, you autopsied them? Didn't think you would have that much care for -"

Dan slammed his hand down on the desk.

"Not the time for occupation wars, Kropp. From our master," he snapped, throwing the enveloped letter at the pirate.

"Surprised you haven't tampered with it," he joked, ripped the wax seal from the paper.

The blonde rolled his eyes at the smugness oozing from his partner, letting the atmosphere fall tense with the fall of noise.

Sweat beaded down his forehead, leaking into the crevices of his mask. He secured the ribbon at the back, as soon as he noticed the accessory slipping down his nose. Couldn't risk Emerson seeing his face.

The temperature down south was exhaustingly-high. They still had to remain there for two more days - just long enough for Kropp to gather the gold he owed. Warm enough for Dan to notice the Sun-induced freckles dusting his nose and cheeks.

He shuffled impatiently, mentally willing the pirate to _read faster._ But, the Captain read at a steady pace, frown deepening the further down the paper he got.

Must've been more than a couple-dozen bags, judging from the scowl on Emerson's face. Dan better get more pay, for dealing with Oliver's grumpy tantrums for over two weeks.

The Pirate Lord tossed the letter atop of a unaligned stack of documents, puffing air out of his cheeks.

"As always, Fuentes is unforgiving with his bargains," he sighed, looking between the pair of assassins. "Though, they are fair. You should've read the letter, before accusing me. Your master agrees that I did not give the order, so no retribution is required."

Dan's cheeks flushed a light pink: he looked like a right idiot. He'd been played, like a set of drums - beaten down upon. Vic wasn't demanding a payment. He wasn't instructing revenge - a life for a life. Nope. They were there for no fucking reason. Probably to try make them _get along._ As if...

"However, I'll sort out the fees, for the trade agreement. Though, you'll have to inform Victor that profits won't start rolling in until maybe the third shipment. If he'd like to make a complaint, he is to come down here, and tell me himself."

Dan frowned. They'd been sent into pirate territory for a business investment? Why couldn't Vic do it himself? Better him than them.

Oliver nodded slowly, acting like he was fully aware of what the pirate was admitting to them.

"When shall we tell Vic the first shipment will be in?" he question, professionally - as if he were prepared for the business.

"The first batch of slaves will be here tomorrow. So, they're ready for your return home. I'll be borrowing you my ship, so there's more space - and a better crew - for your journey back to Rifthold."

Dan leered at him. They'd been sent for... For a fucking slave agreement? Vic was willingly stooping that disgustingly-low for business? And, he told them they were going for deceased assassins? He lied? He lied: he knew Dan was so dead-set against slavery. 

He felt his nostril flare - and his anger bubbling - like a bull before a red cloth. Oliver knew. He knew of the slave deal. He was fucking okay with those innocent people used as fucking slaves. 

As soon as they were alone, he'd be sure to mar his pretty face, to make him regret neglecting to tell him of the truth behind their weeks-long travel.

"You better not botch it. Our master won't be pleased, if anything gets fucked," he warned, not willing to let his lack of knowledge show. 

"It'll all go smoothly - according to plan. I assure you," Emerson promised, leaning back into the backrest of his armchair.

"How long you been part of this type of business?" he asked, levelling his voice out to a nonchalant tone.

Adarlan's slave capture-and-sell trade only began two years prior. Even at his young age of fourteen, Dan was still against the abuse of innocents. Most slaves were from rebelling territories - Ellywe, Melisande, Fenharrow, a tribe hidden in the White Fang Mountains. 

The majority ended up at Calaculla or Endovier, the most notorious labor camps on the continent - to mine precious metals, or salt, in the harshest conditions. If you were sent to one of those labor camps, the chances of you lasting more than a few months was unheard of. The small percentage of slaves remaining ended up in the clutches of Adarlan's most noble families.

Vic had made a trade agreement... It was going to ruin the Keep's reputation - one they'd upheld by being so strongly against such mistreatment of humans. Sure, they were assassins, but they knew the difference between ending a life and abusing humans to do labour. Most of their servants were those willing to do it, and were payed accordingly.

"Long enough to be an experienced man," Kropp responded. "It's a guaranteed profit, but you can't do this type of business in your comfort-zone. If you want it out of the wrong ears, he's gonna have to put a lot into it."

Dan resisted the urge to snarl; his insides writhed around like a family of snakes weaving in and out.

"Vic knows what he's doing, Kropp."

"Good." Emerson thought aloud, "I'm not risking my name for nothing." He gestured towards the door. "Two rooms have been prepared."

"We only need one," the blonde interrupted.

The Pirate Lord quirked an eyebrow; grinned suggestively.

Dan blushed heavily, sinking further into the depths of his hood.

"One room. Two beds. We're not-" he spluttered, and Oliver chuckled at his embarrassed reaction.

"As you wish, sweetheart," Kropp laughed, sauntering over to the door. He opened it, winking at the assassins. "I'll ask one of my men to draw baths for you. Don't enjoy yourselves _too_ much."

Oliver snorted, and it took Dan every drop of self-control he had to not break his nose.


	5. ꧁ 𝟛 ꧂

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF SLAVERY]

It took them about half-an-hour to scour out the whole room. No spy-holes; no secret gaps; no loose floorboards; no trap-doors; nothing behind the paintings, or dresser, or under the beds; nothing. No danger. 

Oliver tossed his cloak over the porthole-window; he bunched up the rugs laid out, sealing them under the door, before giving the room a final inspection.

"Pretty shit. But, it'll do for now," he spoke.

Dan didn't answer, too busy doing a final check of his own. Once certain nothing was seeing or hearing into the room, he pushed his hood back. His fingers fumbled with the bow of his mask, but he managed to remove the sweat-slick accessory. 

He sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair; his fringe flopped over his forehead. Turning to face Oliver, he glowered at the older assassin.

The brunette sat on the edge of his sloppily-made bed - and, they might as well be a plank of wood, Dan thought bitterly - raising his hands to show his innocence.

"Before you can spew your next load of bullshit," he muttered, "I'm going to excuse myself. I knew as little as you did - still know as little as you do. We both went into the meeting blind. I swear I had no idea."

Dan scoffed.

"Oh, really? So, this isn't some elaborate plan to piss me off?"

Oli rolled his hazel eyes.

"You're not the only one who passed improvisation in drama-class."

Oh. Dan toed off his knee-high boots - watching as his partner did the same - and crawled onto his own bed.

"I-I don't get why Vic would do this..." he whispered, trying to mask the hurt in his voice. 

He really had looked up to that man, at one point. 

"He has his reasons, I guess..." 

Slave-trading, with a Pirate Lord? Well, not much of a Lord, if this musty, old room was the best he could offer Adarlan's Assassin.

"Slaves," Dan spat, running his hand through his hair, again. It was a habit. "I thought he was better than that, Oli. We don't need money from _slave-trades_."

Unless, of course, Vic's binge-spending on the Keep was done with money he didn't have. Dan had always assumed his privileged upbringing came from Vic's bottomless wealth. With all the crystal-encrusted rings, and hilts of daggers, and clothing spun from the finest materials, Dan's debt to him was high. Of course, a large cut of his monthly wages was shoved into a volt, ready to give his master in a bulk, at the end of the year. But.

Perhaps, he wanted to increase his wealth? Pointless, really. If Kellin were alive... If Kellin wasn't betrayed like that, he would've been disgusted at their leader - would've fought for the slaves to be freed.

Slaves... Killing not-so-innocent, corrupt members of the government and nobility was bad, sure. But... Slavery? Beating down on their vulnerabilities, until they grew emotionless, and forcing them into unpaid-labour - all because they fought for their home? Bullshit...

Oliver looked at Dan's solemn face expectantly.

"You bathing first, or me?" 

"You," he grumbled in response. "Check over the bathroom; I'm gonna re-check here."

He shrugged off his cloak, and Oliver stood up. The taller assassin made his way to the bathroom, trying to ignore the frantic search and occasional curses coming from the room next door.

☽☽☽

Dan had attended some pretty-shit meals, in the time he was an assassin. Yet, in all those years, he'd never been to one _this_ bad.

The company (he admitted moodily) was rather interesting - tales of the Pirate Lord's and his crew's adventures passing around the table were fun to listen to. The food wasn't bad either; it actually looked rather delicious, and smelled just as good. 

No. It was because he simply couldn't eat: the news of his master's most recent business investment has sickened him to his core. Oliver was happily munching away on his second-helpings, and chatting merrily to the pirate at his side. 

Dan secretly hoped Kropp had poisoned the food, but he'd witnessed the pirate eat the food that Oliver served himself. Of course, it was after Emerson had eaten - just for caution - and that only pissed the blonde assassin off more than he already was.

"Master Flint," Kropp started, glancing at the young boy to his right. "Are you not, indeed, famished? Or, is it that the food isn't quite as exquisite as your palate is used to?"

Dan bit back a groan, faking a smile at the pirate. Beneath his suffocating clothes, he was dehydrated, and starving, and tired. Combine that with his sour mood, he was ready to drive Oliver's meat-knife into the neck of the next person who dared speak to him.

"I'm more tired than anything - warm, too," he lied, taking a sip of the water out of his goblet.

He was trained rather well in poisons, and he couldn't recognise the scent or look of one that may have been slipped into his beverage. Plus, it'd been served out of the same jug as the Captain's, and his goblet had been between him and Oli the whole meal.

"Maybe, if you took off all those heavy garments, you'd feel less warm," Kropp hinted. "Unless, we'll lose our appetites, at what you're hiding."

The rest of the table (including the only other assassin) sniggered at the comment. But, Dan only frowned - trying to not let his insecurities shine through.

"Keep talking like that, darling, and I'll give you a reason to wear a mask of your own," he warned, slicing down into the roasted duck on his plate.

He didn't eat it, being vegetarian, but it acted enough of a warning. Under the table, Oliver kicked him, hazel eyes burning red with his anger. Dan kicked back, causing the brunette to choke on his vegetables at the sudden pain in his shin.

"Have you seen him, without all the heavy clothes?" Emerson asked Oli; flicked his icy gaze upon him.

"Course, I have. One of the very few, though. You'd be surprised at what's under there. Take that how you wanna."

The Pirate Lord eyed him, for a moment, before turning his attention back to Dan.

"If I can't see your face, can you indulge us in the marvellous story of how you came to be Victor Fuentes' protégé?"

"I trained. For a long time. We aren't all lucky to have a magic map to guide the way. Most of us have to climb to where we are," he explained dully, toying with the food on his plate.

The pirates stiffened, staring at their tense Lord in fear of what was to happen. Dan wanted to squirm in his seat, for his unthought-out response.

"The map has been dormant for eight years, Daniel," he growled. 

Dan shuddered, biting down on his lip. Eight years, since it all happened. Fae had been banished - executed for what they were. Adarlan had conquered the continent, and wiped out the remaining traces of magic.

"Don't think, not even for a second, that I haven't done my fair-share of hardships to get where I am," he snarled.

Dan shrugged, going back to picking at his vegetables - the fork only getting centimetres away from his mouth, before he gave up.

"Are you this cold towards everyone because you're a cunt, or because you're too pussy to deal with people?" Emerson questioned, studying to blonde. 

"I'm the world's best assassin, I have no need to be afraid of those around me."

Sure, it was a half-assed, cocky reply, but it's not like he meant it. Dan wasn't exactly the most confident person, despite his attitude towards others.

"And, I'm the world's best pirate. I'm afraid of a shit-tonne of people. Why do you think I've been alive for this long?"

Dan ignored him, not feeling up for a brawl. He downed the rest of his water; he slumped in his seat.

"Surprised Vic hasn't made you check that arrogance, sweetheart. Or, maybe you just don't listen. Your partner seems to understand, when to speak."

Oliver cleared his throat. 

"How'd you become Pirate Lord then?" 

Dan zoned out, as the arrogant bastard dramatised his journey to the top. Oli was hanging on to his every word - and it wasn't even feigned. Oh, for fuck's sake...

Emerson snapped his fingers, jolting Dan out of his thoughts.

"I'd watch your back around this one, Flint. Behind every best, is a better, waiting for a slip-up."

Oliver winked. That traitorous, little b-

"Heed my warning, Daniel."

Kropp sent a lazy smile.

☽☽☽

"Kropp's not that bad," Oli admitted.

It was at least midnight, and their cramped room was as dark as the eyes of a wyvern. Dan looked over at him, squinting through the darkness. He'd taken the first couple-hour shift, and Oliver was supposed to be sleeping, to gain energy.

"Course, you'd say that. He basically told you to slit my throat, and be done with it," he sighed, picking at his nails.

"Wise advice, if you ask me," he teased.

"Sure you wanna sleep, darling? The way you're going, you're not gonna wake up tomorrow."

Oli groaned, burying his face into the feather pillow.

"Come on, sweetheart. Learn to take a bit of teasing."

"Where my life is concerned? No, thanks, love."

"If I was gonna kill you, I'd do it, when Vic won't brutally torture me - for breaking the oath."

"Nice to know it's only your ass you care about, Sykes," Dan replied sarcastically.

"Well, you actually have a pretty nice arse too," the other assassin commented, rolling onto his back.

Dan blushed slightly, turning away - despite knowing the pesky brunette would not see his cheeks in the dark of the night.

"Shut up," he mumbled.

Oli laughed. Then, silence.

The younger pulled the blankets up to his chin, yawning.

"Dan?" 

"Mhm?"

"Should I worry about sleeping?"

Dan let out a snort of laughter. At least, _someone_ took his threats seriously.

"No. M'not going to kill you," he admitted. "Tonight - that is," he added, wanting to taunt the curly-haired boy.

"Tomorrow then?"

Before he could get an answer, soft snores were escaping his lips.yes 


	6. ꧁ 𝟜 ꧂

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TRIGGER WARNING: SLAVERY MENTIONS]

Dan lay awake, despite him _supposed_ to be getting some rest. All he could think about was one stupid thought, slowly becoming problematic with its permanent mark on his mind.

_The slave-trade agreement._

Maybe, if literally anyone else had been sent, and he'd found out about it - when he was way too busy to think about it - he wouldn't have been as bothered as he was. He wouldn't be able to do something, by then. But, now...

How could Vic stoop so fucking low? Expecting _Dan_ , of all people, to do this inhumane business trade for him? 

If Kellin were still alive, Dan would've immediately written to him. Ever-compassionate about others, Kellin would've been an ally. He wouldn't've stood for this.

His death truly left a gaping vacancy in Dan's life, that no other person could ever come close to stitching together.

When the Sun arose, and Oliver was awakened by the cry of the gulls circling in the skies above, Dan had barely slept half-an-hour. He felt like he'd been caught in a stampede of wild horses from the grasslands of Eyllwe.

Oliver dragged himself out of bed, stretching with a yawn. He hurled his boot at Dan's back.

"Rise and shine, princess. Another day ahead of us."

Deciding that rude awakening was going to be the biggest factor for his foul mood, the blonde got from beneath his blankets, and walked to the bathroom. The door was slammed hard enough to rattle the entire room.

When he emerged, disguise in place, he finally had his mind cleared up.

There was no way that he was going to let those slaves be whisked away to some noble household in Rifthold, to be treated like they were worth less than dirt. 

That left him with just a day to figure out how to ruin the trade agreement. 

And, figure out how to escape the clutches of death, when Vic figured out how he was involved with the ruining of the deal.

"Where you going?" Oliver piped up curiously, looking up at him from where he was tying the laces of his ankle-boots.

Oliver wouldn't help: he was too much of a pussy to risk his life.

"Out. Alone. Got some questions for Kropp. Oh, and do be a darling, will you? Sneak me some breakfast out of the kitchens? Thanks, love."

Oliver rolled his eyes, bowing dramatically.

"As you wish, princess," he muttered.

Dan flipped him off, storming out the room. He didn't see the gesture being returned. 

☽☽☽

The streets were worse than inside the buildings. Rubbish, vomit, filth. You name it - it was probably there. Already-drunken pirates were swaying their way through crowds; what he assumed were prostitutes were stumbling through the streets, looking for another customer; barefoot, homeless people curled up against walls.

Dan tried to toss a gold piece (or two) at every homeless person he saw. He even offered a prostitute a couple of pieces, for them to leave him alone.

"No, thanks, love," he'd apologised, dropping the pieces into their hands. "Not my kinda thing."

Kropp watched him, surprised, every time he handed out a gold piece like it was nothing. Perhaps, it was because the pirate hadn't expected such selflessness from him.

"You got three blocks, to get what you want out of me, darling," the Captain sighed, strides long.

Dan, shorter than most of the men he knew, struggled to keep up with the fast gait of the pirate. He'd found him, when he was on the way to a business meeting. Kropp had agreed to be interrogated, thankfully.

"So, tonight, when the... Uh... You know... Arrive, will I have the chance to inspect them? Wanna makes sure my master gets nothing but the best, y'know?" 

He faked a laugh, hiding his unamused expression behind the shadows of his hood.

"In the evening, I'll let you join me. Consider it a privileged opportunity," the pirate spoke, voice uninterested.

"Where? Your ship? Elsewhere?"

Once he had an idea of where everything would be, he could build up his plan. 

"We usually do it in a holding facility. But, you're leaving tonight. So, yeah. On the ship."

"How long will it take?" he asked innocently, stumbling over a rock.

Emerson snorted at his clumsiness.

"Why, busy with Loverboy?"

Dan blushed - whether it was the question, or embarrassment of tripping, he didn't know. 

"We're not together. I hate him. So, just answer the question," he grumbled, and pouted slightly.

"Don't worry, Master Flint, I'll make sure you have enough time to snog your boyfriend" the Pirate Lord laughed. "Sorting through all one-fifty slaves won't be a fast process, though."

He twister around a barrel, not even turning towards the young assassin.

One-hundred and fifty slaves? On one ship? 

"Time well spent, considering it means you won't fuck this up."

"I have another shipment, being inspected at the holding facility this afternoon. Only about seventy, though. You can join me, if you wanna. To give you something to compare your's to," Kropp offered.

They were not _his_ ; they were not _anyone's_. They were their own people, with their own lives - and families. 

But, that sounded like a good plan. Maybe, he could say they weren't good enough for the Keep, and just refuse the business. No danger, in that, right?

He'd still have to face Oliver's anger, and Vic's punishment. But, he'd survived enough punishments. Vic wouldn't do anything _too_ bad - not to Dan. 

"Send someone to get me, when it's time. When Vic's... Batch... Has been inspected, are Oliver and I to look after them? If not, your pirates might think they can take whoever they desire."

The pirate clenched his jaw.

"My men will follow my instructions to not touch what isn't their's, Flint. I take any investment seriously, especially one from an honourable man - such as Vic," he spat through his teeth.

Unexpected anger was Dan's guilty-pleasure, and he grinned to himself. 

They approached a cosy-looking tavern - one of the only buildings in liveable condition. Several men wearing the same uniform straightened to attention, at the sight of the Pirate Lord. Guards? Why hadn't they escorted him?

"I don't wanna be here any longer than I already have to be. The Sun's getting to me," Dan grumbled, pushing his mask up his nose, like one would do to glasses slipping due to sweat.

"I can tell. You look ready to pass out."

Dan rolled his aquamarine eyes, catching sight of the name in pealing paint on the swinging sign above - THE SLEEPING SEA DRAGON.

That was also the name of Emerson's ship, the assassin mused. Possibly his headquarters; it would explain why it was the best-looking building for miles.

"Eh, I'd rather just be home - in a more familiar, civilised place," he replied, a sweet smile on his face as he batted his dark eyelashes at the pirate.

He growled warningly, opening the tavern door. The scent of stale alcohol burnt the assassin's nostrils, causing him to fight back a gag. Kropp stepped inside, fingers clutching onto the side of the wood of the door.

"One day, darling, someone will really make you pay for your annoying arrogance," he warned, a bitter smile plastered on his face.

"That an empty threat, or a promise?"

Emerson cupped Dan's face, caressing the smooth skin of his cheek beneath his mask. He leaned down, close to the assassin's ear.

"Do you want it to be a promise, sweetheart?" he murmured, and Dan barely heard it through his thick cloak.

The blonde shuddered, fighting back a gulp. Sure, his charm was a weapon - but that didn't mean it couldn't be used as a weapon against him. He backed away, trying to act confident.

"Didn't give you permission to touch me," he spat.

Emerson smirked, and slammed the tavern door shut. 

That'd gone better than he'd hoped.

☽☽☽

"Did you poison it?" Dan asked, only half joking.

"Taste it: you'll find out, won't you?"

He lifted a slice of the freshly-baked bread Oli had stolen from the kitchens to his nose, sniffing. He glanced down at the brunette, who was sat on the floor. His back was against Dan's bed, with his cloak bunched up behind him for comfort. 

"Do I detect a trace of... Belladonna?"

Oliver shot him a glare through his curly fringe, and Dan just smirked at him. He gnawed at his bread; each of his chews were accompanied by a little shuffle on the spot.

"I should probably warn the pirates," the hazel-eyed assassin spoke up, picking at the loose threads on his shirt.

"No clue what you're on about, love," Dan mumbled - through a mouthful of the fruit on his plate.

"You said you went to ask Kropp questions. That always means one of your famous Dan-Schemes."

"I was very polite to him."

Oliver raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Polite and Daniel Flint do not go well together."

Dan giggled at him, drawing out his silence with a long sip of his cinnamon tea.

"Hm, they do, when it's someone I like. So, you wouldn't know that."

"You hate Emerson," the older deadpanned.

The blonde nudged his side with his foot, studying him. He was clearly okay with taking all of those slaves back to Rifthold. What a bastard.

"Wanted to know about some of his adventures."

"The truth, Daniel," Oli growled, clutching his shirt in an attempt to control his annoyance.

Dan pouted cutely.

"I am telling the truth!" 

"You fucking liar!" Oliver slammed his hand onto the floor, rattling Dan's tray of food.

Dan looked at his companion with wide eyes - but, he turned away quickly, blushing. Big hands...

"I've known you for eight years. I know, when you're lying. I know. I'm not as stupid as you think," he snarled, narrowed eyes turned up at the blonde.

If he told him, Oliver would ruin his plans of freeing the slaves... He couldn't risk that, not this close to going home. And, if Oli was involved, Kropp could end up killing him, should everything take a turn for the worst. He didn't want that - no matter how much he hated the brunette.

"Fine," he sighed. "I was just unable to resist his handsomeness, and his charm."

At his words, Oliver went rigid.

"Hes twelve years older - you're a minor! Did you bloody shag him?"

He thought... Oh... He thought Dan was serious? Really?

"So what, if I did?"

"It's fucking illegal!"

"We're assassins-"

"I'm so sick of your melodrama! And, your bossiness! You can't order me around, as though you own me!" he huffed.

"Is itty-bitty Oli-Boli scared of me being more dominant than he?" Dan teased.

Oliver was on his feet in an instant.

"Listen here, Daniel," he hissed, grabbing the blonde's chin. "You are not the boss of me. Not now; not ever. Even when you run the Keep, I will always have power over you. Do you hear me?"

His grip tightened, fingernails digging into Dan's jaw. Dan stared up at him - with shock, more than fear - and willed his cheeks to remain a neutral colour.

"I said," Oliver repeated, "Do you fucking hear me?"

Dan nodded meekly, so frozen by the sudden act that he didn't even make a sarcastic response, when the brunette let go of his face.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, paralysed.

No one spoke, after that.


End file.
